


Don't Let Go

by Solanaceae



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, brotherly relationships, character death (canon), sons of feanor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celegorm once made a promise that he'd always come find his little brother. This is the story of that promise. Oneshot. Celegorm and Caranthir, a friendship/sibling story. Begins in Valinor, ends in Dior's halls, cuts though Nirnaeth Arnoediad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Go

_"What do you mean, he hasn't come back? Where did he go?"_

_"I'd have thought you would know. He said he was going hunting with you."_

_"Eru - I never let him come, atarinya! I went alone! If that brat had tried to follow me, I'd have sent him home, and you know it!"_

_"Your little brother is alone in the forest."_

_"So?"_

_"Find him, Tyelkormo. Right now."_

And now the third son of Fëanor was pushing his way through the undergrowth, hacking at branches with his knife and muttering under his breath. Every now and then he would glance skywards, brow furrowed with irritation. The silver light of Telperion glanced off his blonde hair, forming a shimmering halo around his scowling face.

"Damn brat. Always following me around. Well, if he's lost, if he's hurt... serves him right!" Celegorm slashed at a nearby tree, relishing the dull thud his knife made as if impacted.

_He's a self-centered idiot. Always whining and tagging along after me - as if I have the time for a useless kid like him. He ought to go bother Nelyo or Kano. Why's it always me?_

For that matter, why was he the one sent into the forest after the brat? It wasn't his fault that the younger Elf had decided to follow him today. He hadn't even known about it.

"Moryo!" His voice echoed through the almost silent trees. There was no reply. Celegorm cursed under his breath and paused. He'd taken the eastward trail down today. Was it likely that the brat had gotten that far? There were cliffs there - tall, rocky cliffs that overlooked the Sea...

_Whatever. If he went and fell off a cliff, it's his own fault. I don't care._

He sheathed his knife as he stepped onto the path. His shadow stretched out long in front of him as he walked east, towards the Sea. His grandfather was always telling stories of the dark lands beyond, the lands from which the Eldar had come. Finwë spoke of their kindred that had remained there, in Middle-earth. Sometimes, Celegorm would go stand by those cliffs and gaze eastwards, over the waters touched gold and silver by the light of the Two Trees. There, too, within sight of Tirion, lay the Lonely Isle, Tol Eressëa.

For a while there was only the sound of his breathing and the steady scuff of his shoes on the dirt path. Every now and then, his keen ears would pick up some sign of normal woodland wildlife - the piping song of a bird, or the soft rustle in the fallen leaves of some small creature.

"Moryo?" he tried again, voice loud in the stillness. Still no response.

_The brat's probably hiding. No doubt likes the attention._

Still, there were the cliffs ahead, drawing ever closer. This was almost certainly the path his little brother would have ended up on, and if he didn't happen across him before the end of the path, he wasn't sure where he could look next.

_I'll just go home and tell them I couldn't find him. The brat is sure to turn up eventually. He'll get tired of hiding and come back-_

Unless, of course, he was hurt. Lying at the base of the cliffs, perhaps, every bone in his body shattered, unable to move.

Celegorm shook his head. Surely even that brat wasn't stupid enough to fall of a cliff.

"Moryo!"

Nothing.

The path ended abruptly, the trees on either side falling away. He stood in the open air, feeling the cold wind slap his face, carrying the smell of salt. He could hear the dull rumble of the waves, see where the ground dropped off into shadow a few meters ahead.

For the first time, something that might have been worry crept into him. If the brat had reached the end of the path and strayed too close to the edge, in this dim light...

Something in the dirt caught his eye and he stooped to investigate, a chill running though him. There at the edge of the cliff was a small, gold clasp, made by Fëanor for his fourth-born son to keep his jacket closed. Celegorm had seen his brother wear this often.

"Moryo?" He approached the edge and peered over, heart pounding.  _Oh, Eru, please..._ "Moryo?"

There. A small, dark shape, huddled on a ledge several bodylengths down. That could be his little brother, caught halfway between clifftop and crashing water by pure lucky happenstance.

Celegorm pocketed his brother's pin and frowned. How to reach him? It was a fairly considerable drop - maybe five, six times his height. But there were plenty of rocky outcroppings, handholds and footholds aplenty. If he was very careful, it might be possible for him to reach that ledge. And it wasn't as though he had much of a choice at this point.

"I swear, Moryo, if I fall and die I will come back and kill you," he muttered. After one last moment of hesitation, he rolled up his sleeves and spat on his palms, then knelt and swung his feet out over the edge.

The first few feet were easy enough - nice, steady rocks everywhere. But about halfway to the ledge, his feet slipped and for a heart-stopping moment he was dangling over the void, arms straining to keep him from falling to the ocean below. There was a foothold only a little further down - he could see it from under his arm - but his legs were too short to reach.

_Should've sent Nelyo. He'd have been tall enough to get down, no problem._

But the ledge with his brother on it wasn't that much farther down...

"Oh, what the hell." Celegorm let go, angling his feet inwards. He slithered down the cliff face, scraping his elbows and knees on the rough stone. He landed on the ledge with a sharp jolt and for a moment teetered on the edge, arms pinwheeling for balance. He caught the cliff and clung to it, panting, pressing his face against the cold, damp rock. His hands stung, palms scraped raw by his descent, but nothing seemed to be broken.

His eyes fell on the dark shape a few feet away and he threw himself to the ground, forgetting his hurts. It  _was_  his little brother, skin pale, eyes closed - but still breathing, thank the Valar.

"Moryo, you idiot. You made Atar worry, and we all know how hard it is to do that." He pressed his forehead to his brother's, letting out a long sigh of relief mingled with annoyance.

His brother's eyes fluttered open. "Tyelko?"

Celegorm pulled away. "Can you get up?"

"It hurts." Caranthir made as if to sit up, but fell back again, face white with pain. Celegorm noticed for the first time how the tiny Elf's leg was twisted at a sickeningly unnatural angle.

"Of all the - you just had to break your leg, didn't you?" the blonde Elf groaned. "Get on my back. I guess I'll just have to carry you up." He turned to let Caranthir clamber on. "Don't you dare let go," he added.

"I won't. I knew you'd come, Tyelko," his brother whispered, words slurred slightly with pain.

"I should've just left you there. Would've taught you a lesson, if nothing else." He looked up at the cliff, feeling his brother's weight - this might be tough.

"Really. I knew you'd come find me."

Celegorm sighed and started to climb. "I'll always come find you, Moryo. Always."

* * *

"Maitimo! We must retreat! Morgoth's forces are too great!" Maglor's face was streaked with blood and sweat and grime. He leaned heavily on his spear, limping from the dying blow of the traitor Uldor. Around the sons of Fëanor, the battle raged - and it was quite clear who was winning.

The eldest son's face was contorted with anger and pain, a cold, fell light in his eyes. "Retreat, when Findekáno has fallen rather than withdraw? I think not."

Celegorm thrust his sword through a snarling Orc and shoved the still-thrashing body aside. Breathing heavily, blood flowing like tears over his cheeks from a shallow wound on his forehead, he strode up to Maedhros and slapped him full across the face with one gloved hand.

"We have to retreat!" he snarled up into his brother's shocked face. "Morgoth has won! If we regroup and leave  _now_ , we may yet survive this!" Behind him, he heard the dying scream of a Man - probably taken care of Curufin, always there to watch his brother's back.

Maedhros hesitated, then nodded, face blank. "Sound the retreat."

 _Damn you, Nelyo. You can cry. You shed not a tear for our father, but you can cry for your beloved cousin if you wish, though I know no words of mine would make you do so._ Celegorm turned away, searching for his brothers. "Fall back!" The words were hoarse, tearing at his throat. "Fall back!"

What followed was a whirlwind of clashing swords and cries of pain as the seven sons of Fëanor fought their way to the edge of the battle. What had started out so brilliantly in theory had dissolved into utter chaos, and Morgoth was swiftly gaining the upper hand. Here on the battlefield, countless Elves and Men had fallen alongside those they fought, Orcs and traitors alike.

They reached the forest after what might have been minutes or hours or years - time had no meaning on the battlefield. Celegorm turned to his brothers. Maedhros was gazing back at the battle, where the blue and silver banners of his cousin Fingon had foundered amid the darkness. Maglor was being tended by Amrod and Amras, Curufin was watching Celegorm expectantly, as though awaiting further orders.

And where was the last one?

His first thought was:  _Oh, Eru, not again._ And the second -  _I have to find him._

"Moryo's missing." The words were clipped, tense. He turned back towards the battle. "I'm going back."

Maedhros opened his mouth as though to forbid it, but shut it with an audible click as Celegorm swung on him, eyes burning. The red-haired Elf nodded imperceptibly.

_And if I fall, Nelyo, will you cry for me at last?_

"I'll come," Curufin said quietly.

"No. Stay." And Celegorm lept down the hill, sword skewering the nearest Orc as he launched himself back into the chaos.

There was no use calling for Caranthir - in this din, he'd be lucky to hear himself screaming at the top of his lungs. So he fought his way back to where he had last seen the dark-haired Elf.

 _He'd better not have gotten himself killed._ Eru knew Caranthir was reckless enough to have done something stupid enough to have accomplished that. Celegorm couldn't even count the number of times his younger brother's temper had led to near-disaster. But if the Elf had fallen - if Caranthir was dead...

The sons of Fëanor had endured the loss of their father. They could handle the loss of a brother, surely.

_But I promised. I promised that I'd always find him._

There. Up ahead - was that the shape of an Elf, surrounded by Orcs, sword flashing in the setting sun? He thought so. And who else but Caranthir would get themselves into such a stupid position?

"Tyelko!" Incredibly, the fourth son of Fëanor was laughing as he casually flung an Orc from his path on his way to his brother. "I was wondering where you went."

"Nelyo sounded the retreat," Celegorm spat. "Didn't you hear?"

"And if I wanted to keep fighting regardless... what of it?" Caranthir's eyes snapped up to something just over and behind his brother's shoulder. "Tyelko, look out!"

Celegorm whirled, bringing his sword up just in time to block a crashing blow from an Orc. Their swords locked, rough iron and Valinor-forged steel grating against one another. They strove for power, snarling faces inches from each other, and Celegorm could smell the rank Orc-scent, hear the creature's ragged breathing - and he was being pushed back now, feet digging into the blood-soaked dirt.

A deafening cry from beside him, accompanied by the flash of Caranthir's upswept blade, and a terrible clang as it impacted the Orc's helm. The sword shattered in a glittering rain of steel. A sliver of metal struck Caranthir's face, sending a spurt of blood over one cheek, but the hilt-shard was buried in the Orc's skull.

"I won't  _ever_  allow scum such as you to touch my brother," Caranthir scowled, yanking what remained of his sword free. The Orc toppled over, landing with a dull thud at the Elf's feet.

The battle was moving east, leaving the two Elves alone amid a pile of dead and almost-dead foes and allies. In the relative quiet, Caranthir bent double and ran his fingers over the ground, over the shards of his sword, heedless of the blood that welled up in his fingers... then looked up at his brother and laughed.

"Not bad for a sword made by Atar. I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did."

Celegorm regarded his brother for a few long seconds. "Let's get back to the others," he finally said, glancing to where Morgoth's forces were gathering, preparing another onslaught - surely the last, for the allied Eldar and Men could not stand for much longer.

Caranthir caught his sleeve as he turned away. "Thank you for coming back for me, Tyelko." His dark eyes were unusually serious. Celegorm had to resist the urge to wipe away the dark red trickle that made its way down the taller Elf's face.

"I made a promise, didn't I?" Celegorm held out his hand and Caranthir took it - almost as though they were children again, hands unstained with blood, spirits freed from the darkness of the Oath. "Don't let go."

"Never," Caranthir whispered.

* * *

The snow drifted down in eerie silence, dusting the stone floor with glittering white as it swirled through the shattered doors of Dior's hall. It floated in the red pools of blood, brief flickers of white melting in the still-warm air. The blonde Elf was crumpled at the base of the wall, leaning against the cold stone, his sword shattered at his side. There was a dark wound across his throat, his armor crumpled and drowning in his blood.

"Tyelko?"

Celegorm forced his eyes open. That was Caranthir's voice - his little brother, long since grown taller than him. And there was Caranthir himself, dragging himself closer to his brother's body, the entire right side of his face a torn ruin and one arm pressed to his stomach, blood seeping through the torn chain-mail.

"Tyelko, answer me. Please." Caranthir's face contorted with pain and he fell a few feet from where Celegorm lay. He let out a sharp cough and blood spattered the floor before him.

"Moryo..." Speaking hurt, moving even more so. But he reached for his brother, hand slipping in the dark red puddle that was pooling beneath him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you." Caranthir clutched Celegorm's hands, pressing his forehead to the bloody palm, smearing his own blood on his brother's skin.

"That's... the older brother's job, you idiot," Celegorm forced out.

_And a fine job I have done of it. Who was it that convinced Nelyo to attack Dior? Forget the Oath, that was my own pride speaking._

Dior's sword had ended his pride. And maybe that was right - maybe he deserved to be here, dying on the floor of a strange hall, holding the hand of a brother who was just as doomed as he was.

_Oh, Moryo, I'm so sorry._

"This is all my fault," he gasped. "I- " The words died in his mouth and he closed his eyes, fighting for breath. "Eru, Moryo, you're dying. And I promised..."

Caranthir's fingers were digging painfully into Celegorm's hand. "You kept all your promises, Tyelko. The Oath and the one to me. See? I'm right here." He smiled with what remained of his face, and Celegorm's heart twisted a little.

_You were such a beautiful, irritating, incredible child. What happened to my little brother?_

_And what happened to me?_

"I'll always find you, Moryo."

_Always._

He could still feel Caranthir's hand in his as everything spiraled away.

"Don't let go," Celegorm whispered.

"I won't, Tyelko. Ever."


End file.
